


I Want To Breathe That Fire Again

by second_hand_heaven



Category: DCU
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Bruce, Bottom Diana, Bruce Wayne has a lot of feelings, Comfort Sex, Cunnilingus, DC Trinity, Don't Like Don't Read, Emotional Sex, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Past Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Porn with Feelings, Superwonderbat, Switch Bruce Wayne, Threesome - F/M/M, Top Clark Kent, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, get-together, poly trinity, this is not a clois fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 08:44:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13947981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_hand_heaven/pseuds/second_hand_heaven
Summary: After a gratuitously fouled-up mission, Clark, Diana, and Bruce console themselves together in the most intimate of ways.It leaves an impression on Bruce. He wants that again.There's always temptation. When they train, when they fight, when they smile at him in those soft, alone moments. Temptation crackles like green wood on a fire.But there's no reason to hope. They're the trinity. A triad. There's no feasible way for a couple to form amongst their closed ranks. It's the three if them, or none of them. All for one and one for all.





	I Want To Breathe That Fire Again

**Author's Note:**

> (title taken from 'Read My Mind' by The Killers)

They fail.

Sure, they've failed before, but this… This isn't something they can bounce right back from. They will, of course, given time. But for now they need to grieve.

The Watchtower's much too quiet.

The three of them… they come together. A force that attracts them, in more sense than one. In their trinity, there is unity.

Diana's the one to suggest it. Something the Amazon's would do, she says, when the war was won at too great a cost. Her upper lip is firm, unwavering, but her jaw is clenched much too tight.

Clark's got tears in his eyes, tears he refused to let the rest of the League see. But now it's just the three of them, and he can be weak in front of them. He can be weak with them, and that's exactly what he needs.

Bruce nearly says no. Probably should say no, anyway. This is the time for him to be the voice of reason. This is when he should tell them no, say they've got better, more pressing things to attend to.

He doesn't. The noise in his head is too loud, the room much too quiet. He's got new plans to form, amendments to be made. There's repairs and injuries and so much more that need to be addressed. But right now? He needs to be taken out of his head for a while, and two super-powered beings should be capable of that. And besides, a glance at either Kal or Diana tells how much they need this.

There's something between them, the three of them. It's always been there, buzzing lowly, subdued, but still there. Like glowing embers, all it needs is to be stoked. It's a something he can't name, doesn't dare name. Naming it makes it real, and he won't pretend he thinks this offer is more than a one-time thing.

So he nods, accepting this proposed, nameless something. It's a want that's lived in the shadows given a chance at the light. And oh, how he wants.

 

They zeta to the Mansion, heading for the Cave instead of the master bedroom. He wants to come apart, but there's plans and contingencies and safewords that need to be considered.

He comms his team. Nightwing and Red Robin cover his patrol with barely a word.

Alfred nods tightly at Bruce's request for privacy. No smirk, no snark, no sarcasm. Alfred reads them all so clearly, recognises the weight upon all three.

 

The cowl is finally off, and he feels truly and utterly naked before them. He's surrendering to them, fully, and it's exactly what he needs.

Sweat-dampened hair falls across his eyes. He doesn't realise he's shaking until there are gentle hands at his shoulders.

“I need-” he tries, but Diana's lips silence him.

Clark brushes his hair from his face. “It's okay, B. We've got you.”

And yeah, this is what he needs.

He needs to give in. He needs to be weak. He needs Clark and Diana to let him be weak.

He needs them.

The thought scares him less that it should.

 

They lead him from the cave, all the way to the bedroom. They shower, and it's more intimate than sexual. There’re hands all over him and he leans into every touch.

Blood and grime and shame wash from their skin and swirl down the drain.

His knees are weak, but that's okay. He's scooped up into Diana's arms and carried from the shower. She holds him steady as he's dried off with the softest towel Clark can find.

He feels… taken care of. Cared for, even. And he hates it. He doesn't deserve their care. He doesn't deserve their compassion and trust and hope. It's his fault. It's all his fault. If only he'd been faster, if only he'd held on tighter, if only-

Diana and Clark are staring down at him, concern etched in their features. They've learnt to read him so well. Maybe it's less of them being able to read him, and more of him being open to be read.

His face is wet. Didn't Clark just dry it?

It takes him much too long to realise he's crying, silent tears covertly rolling down his cheeks.

He hasn't cried in… since…

Don't even go there, he warns himself.

 

Clark slips one arm beneath Bruce's knees, the other across the width of his back. Lifted into a bridal carry, Bruce is swept into the bedroom.

If it were any other time, he's gripe at the indignity of it. Proclaim he wasn't a child, throw a punch or two, verbal or otherwise. But now, he curls tighter into Clark's chest.

He's placed on the bed so slowly, like Clark can't bear to let him go. He doesn't move far, shifting to one side to allow Diana access to Bruce's other side.

They stare down at him for a moment, just watching. The attention makes him squirm.

Assured but careful touches catalogue scar tissue and poorly-healed fractures. It's akin to worship, a tender reverence in every touch.

“Nightstand,” he tells them. Diana rummages through it blindly, and triumphantly pulls out a bottle of lube and two condom packets.

They position him on his hands and knees, Diana beneath him, Clark behind. Bruce teases her with his fingers, spreading her out just as Clark does to him.

He rolls on a condom, adding more lube to his length before passing the bottle to Bruce. He sinks in slowly, torturously so. Simultaneously entering and being entered, it borders on being too much. It's exactly what he needs.

Clark sets the pace, rocking slowly into Bruce. The noise in his head dissipates. Instead, he catches the soft pants Diana makes with each movement, the sound of slick skin and bodies thrusting against, into, another.

Clark’s left hand tightens at Bruce's hip, his right finding Diana's thigh. Bruce is lost, caught between the two of them.

 

It's nothing new to him; sex with women, sex with men, sex with both, with whoever, it never mattered. But it's the soft, gentle kisses to his cheek, his throat, his back, that confuse him.

Why aren't they hurting him? He deserves it. Deserves their anger and force and hate.

He wants it hard and he wants it to hurt, but they’re impossibly gentle with him.

That's when it hits him. They need to be gentle. Not because of Bruce's human fragility, but because they _need_ it to be this way.

This is their defiance, their stand against the world. They refuse to be hardened by their failures. Their softness will not be taken from them, but freely given.

This is their weakness, their tenderness, and they're giving it all to Bruce to cherish.

He doesn't think he can stand it.

 

“Bruce? What's wrong?” Clark's words brush against his spine.

“Nothing.” The words fail him.

They pause their ministrations and Bruce barely bites back a dissatisfied groan.

“This is good,” he says, a little raspy. He lowers his forehead to Diana's shoulder. “This is so good.” It's nearly too good.

Each snap of Clark's hips drives Bruce deeper into Diana. He's surrounded by them, engulfed by them. He's drowning in them, and he's okay with that.

One hand supporting his weight, he traces his other hand down Diana's stomach, feeling the tightly corded muscles jump and twitch at his touch. He ghosts over her clit, barely making contact before stroking down the line of her folds to where she's stretched out, taking him inside.

“So wet for-” he gasps, his words cut off as Clark shifts the angle of his thrusts.

Teasing her lips, he gathers her slickness on his fingers. God, he'd love to taste her. Instead, he glides his fingers upward and rubs at her clit with a delicate ferocity.

It catches her off-guard in the best kind of way.

“Bruce!” she cries at she comes, fingers digging into his shoulder.

The pulsation of her walls is maddening. He’s so close…

“Let go,” Clark whispers, the words sounding more like a plea. His lips brush against the shell of Bruce’s ear.

And he does.

He falls apart, but that's okay. Clark and Diana will put him back together. They always do.

Each breath he takes is like fire and he burns gloriously.

Clark fucks him through it all, stilling as he reaches his own peak. He murmurs something Kryptonian, but Bruce only catches their names, nothing else. He slides out, as does Clark, and they dispose of the condoms.

 

They're silent, embracing the closeness and willing it to remain just a few moments longer. Bruce's yawn betrays him.

Clark looks ready to get up and leave, but Diana slings an arm across his waist.

“Stay, Bruce asks, too tired to care how it might sound. After that, Clark puts up no fight.

With a sigh, Bruce curls against Diana's side, and drifts off into a dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

They build from their failure. There was no doubt that they would. Clark's hopefulness, Diana's compassionate spirit, and Bruce's goddamn contingencies assure the League's resurgence.

Clark and Diana rebuild, too. They're better for it, Bruce thinks. But they've got walls now. He hates the very idea of it.

Something inside Bruce's gut knots whenever he sees Diana or Clark. He wants that again.

He can never have it. Won't allow himself to.

 

And then Clark's with Lois. A month later, he's not. Then he is again. The cycle repeats, vicious and predictable.

It's good, in a sense. Bruce has no intention to cause Clark to cheat. With Clark out of the way, there is no temptation.

That's a lie, there's always temptation. When they train, when they fight, when they smile at him in those soft, alone moments. Temptation crackles like green wood on a fire.

But Clark's unavailable, so there's no reason to hope. They're the trinity. A triad. There's no feasible way for a couple to form amongst their closed ranks. It's the three if them, or none of them. All for one and one for all.

And it's okay, until it's not.

 

Clark comes to him, and he knows something's wrong. Alarm bells sound when Bruce notices the set of his jaw.

“Superman.” The curt greeting bears the weight of Bruce's questions. Clark has no reason to be here at League headquarters; Bruce knows his shift doesn't start for another eight hours.

Clark doesn't reply, just shifts his weight from foot to foot.

He meets Clark's eyes and finds a tightness there. Something's wrong. The League paperwork Bruce had been working is forgotten on the desk.

“Lois and I broke up. For good, this time.”

He resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. This isn't a conversation to be had in capes and cowls.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” he tries, unsure of what he can give him right now.

“Don't be. It's- it wasn't what either of us needed anymore.”

It's a well-rehearsed line; Clark was the one to end it, then. It's an equally elating and daunting discovery.

But no. Now is the time to comfort, and not _comfort._ He places a hand on Clark's shoulder, unsure of what else to do. Clark leans into the touch, leans forward and-

Clark’s about to kiss him. He knows it. He wants it. If he just…

Clark doesn't. He steps back and clears his throat. So instead Bruce says, “tell Diana to meet us down at the gym. Let's spar.”

 

* * *

 

The sparring wasn't his best idea. The physicality, the intimacy, ignites those desires again. Diana's thighs, wrapped around his neck in a headlock, Clark's chest, a solid mass pressing him into the practice mats. He showers quickly and heads back to finish his reports.

It's been a shitshow of a month. Alien invasions, robot invasions, another mass outbreak from Arkham. There isn't one thing he can pinpoint, exactly, no single straw to break the camel’s back. Something burning within him yearns for more. Desire is a fraying knot, a splintering mirror-

 

The pen in his hand snaps in two. Ink spills over his gauntlet, dripping down onto the desk.

That's _it_.

 

In a moment of weakness, he corners them in the Watchtower.

“Bruce?”

There so much that he wants to say, that he should say, yet he manages to get the words out that he needs to. “I want that. Again.”

There's no guessing as to what he's referring to.

And it's sympathy, not pity, that he finds written across their features.

“Oh, Bruce,” Diana says, hand reaching out to cup his cheek, “you should have come to us sooner.”

And he's so so close to falling apart right then and there. He wants to be a mess on the floor, strung out and incoherent. They understand. He knows they do.

“It's alright, B.” Clark's hand rests against the back of his neck, making him melt. “We'll take care of you.”

 

They guide him to Diana's room, the closest of the three. He hasn't been here since Diana moved in, but he spares no time appreciating the Greco-Roman decor.

As soon as the door closes, Diana's lips are on his, while Clark feels for the seams of the Batsuit. His armour falls effortlessly to the floor and Diana deepens the kiss. Hands are at his hips, his ass, his chest.

Diana pulls back from the kiss, turning her attention to Bruce's throat.

His nerves are alight, erection steadily growing. He's reaching out for them in a frenzy, all hands and mouth.

“What do you want, B? Use your words.” Clark's voice is steady, grounding.

Everything. He wants it all. Just in case this never happens again, goes all out. “I want you to fuck me while I eat Diana out.”

Clark groans, pressing up against Bruce's side. He's already hard; Bruce can feel him through the straining confines of his suit.

Diana nips at his earlobe. “I'm sure we can arrange that.” She back-walks him toward the bed, until the back of his knees hit the mattress.

She slides off her cuffs and places them along with her diadem on the dresser. Clark slips behind her, hand at her hip, and helps her out of her armour.

 

Bruce settles himself further up the bed and rummages through the bottom drawer of the nightstand. He pulls out a bottle of lube, some dental dams and condoms.

“You want me to use this, princess?”

She shakes her head.

“Good. I want to taste you.” He tosses the packet aside, passing the lube and a condom packet to Clark.

He nuzzles her right thigh, pressing butterfly kisses to the expanse of skin. Clark traces a hand down the curve of Bruce's spine. He tucks a pillow under Bruce's hips, lifting them upward for better access.

He licks into her, spreading her lips further with his thumbs.

At the first touch of a slick finger to his ass, Bruce rocks back impatiently.

Clark withdraws, and another hand presses against the base of his spine, keeping him in place. “Easy now, B. I'll give you what you want.”

He pulls back a fraction, his breath ghosting over Diana's wetness. “Then get on with it,” he coaxes Clark.

 

So he does, until Bruce is writhing on his fingers.

“Enough,” Bruce says, ‘I need-”

Clark enters him with a teasingly slow pace. Bruce moans at the sensation of being filled, sending vibrations to Diana's very core.

“Yes, yes, _yes_ ,” she pants, and throws her head back against the headboard. He aches to see her face as she comes apart on his tongue, to save that memory for us long as humanly possible. He's not sure if he'll have another chance to see it.

He wants to. He knows that much. Another moment, or a million more like this; he'll take what he can get.

 

Clark brushes his prostate, eliciting a choked-off moan. The vibrations, another twist of his fingers, a flick of his tongue, and Diana reaches her climax. Her juices drip from Bruce's lips as he pulls away.

The pace of Clark’s thrusts pick up, faster but more jagged.

Bruce ruts into the bedding, one hand at Diana's thigh, the other clenched in the sheets.

“I've got you, B. We've got you.”

He's wrung dry and strung out. It's perfect.

Clark pulls out and leaves the bed with a gentle pat to Bruce's flank. Bruce rests his head on the pillow of Diana’s muscular thigh, panting heavily. His jaw glistens with Diana’s slick. She strokes a hand through his hair absentmindedly.

Clark tugs the soiled pillow out from beneath Bruce's hips and tosses it somewhere on the floor. Languidly, Bruce crawls a little further up the bed, resting his head against Diana's stomach.

 

Clark's frowning through the post-coital glow. No, not frowning. Thinking. He slides back onto the bed, curling around Diana's other side. “This can be… something, you know? We could make this something.”

It throws Bruce for a loop. “What kind of something?”

Clark shrugs, a little conscious of what he's actually saying. “Whatever you want it to be. Whatever we can make it. The three of us, what we have, it's…”

“Something,” Diana finishes with a soft laugh.

“Yeah,” Clark smiles down at them, “it's something.”

She links her fingers with Clark's. “I'd like that.”

 

A something, a permanent something between the three of them, it could work. It already is, in a way. This something, this wordless, nameless something, could become more. He -they- can name it, bring it to life. A something…

“Bruce?”

“You're thinking pretty loudly there, B.”

He wants it. So he tells them, “I could stand to have a little more something in my life.”

Their smiles warm him like a glowing hearth.

 

_FIN_

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Comments and kudos are always welcome.
> 
> Come chat with me on tumblr [here](http://second-hand-heaven.tumblr.com/) or my new nsfw superwonderbat sideblog [here](http://second-hand-hell.tumblr.com/)


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